


𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐈𝐒𝐄

by 1keshi



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Author Writes About Therapy Instead of Going to It, Borderline Codependency But We Don't Talk About It, Childhood Friends, Coming of Age, Complicated Relationships, Eventual Romance, F/M, Family Issues, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Growing Up Together, Literally Childhood to University This Shit Is Long, Mutual Pining, Pining, Requited Unrequited Love, Slow Burn, for the culture, or do we
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 04:02:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29570034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1keshi/pseuds/1keshi
Summary: 『❝𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘦...𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥. 𝘪 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘵.❞』_____________________________you’d always loved atsumu— that was the problem.(alternatively, you force a therapist to listen to the story of how you fell in love with your childhood friend, because what else are you supposed to do?)
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Reader, Miya Osamu/Reader
Comments: 24
Kudos: 42





	1. you are the knife i turn inside of myself

**_one: you are the knife i turn inside of myself_**

_Tokyo, 2018, age 23_

The smell of lukewarm instant coffee. 

The vaguely itchy texture of the 20 year old couch beneath you. The faint noises of traffic coming from outside. The anxious tap of your shoes against the carpeted floor. The dead air between the two of you, all pleasantries and greetings long past. 

You open your mouth, drawing in a quick breath and exhale a bit louder— 

“Don’t you just hate old people?”

You don’t know why _that_ was the first thing you decide to say, but you ignore the confused look she gives you and continue on as confidently as you can:

“I landed back in Japan maybe, I don’t know, like two days ago?” you use your hands to gesture even though there’s no need for such a mundane story, “And this grandma I’m sitting beside, she completely ignores me the whole flight, which is fine by me, I don’t care- then twenty minutes before we land she decides to strike up a conversation.

She asks me, ‘ _so what are you flying to Tokyo for?_ ’, and then she goes on for like ten minutes about how she’s visiting her nephew because he’s getting married in a week, and suddenly now I know _everything_ about this complete stranger’s relationship; how his girlfriend was from a family that wasn’t as well-off as their own, how they’d been having some relationship troubles before he popped the question, how this grandma is convinced the bride-to-be is pregnant and that’s why they were rushing the whole ceremony— 

This woman talked so much I didn’t even have a chance to tell her why I was coming back to Tokyo in the first place!” you laugh jovially, but the woman in front of you only offers a polite smile. You clear your throat, shuffling in your seat. 

“Uh, anyways, so that got me thinking- why do people even bother with pleasantries in the first place? Like, they’ll ask you about your day, or how you’re finding things at your job, or if you’re single or not, but they don’t really care. People just need a segue to talk about themselves, which is fine by me, but at least be honest about it, you know?”

The woman before you looks down at the paper in front of her, and suddenly the only thing you can hear is her ballpoint pen scratching the surface of her notebook. 

“What are you writing down?” you straighten in your seat, trying to peer over and see what she was jotting down with such concentration.

“Just a few observations,” she says dismissively, looking up from her paper and offering you a tight smile, “You can continue speaking.”

You laugh nervously, “Sorry about that, I never really know what to say in these kinds of situations, like do I go in for a kiss or what- okay, you’re writing something down again, can I just say for the record I was totally joking-”

“Miss (l/n),” your therapist sets down her pen and paper on the table beside her, placing her hands in her lap, “I understand that you’re nervous, it’s your first time in a setting like this.”

“Y-yeah, I guess so.”

“Okay, so why don’t we start with something easy? Why don’t you tell me what made you call our office and ask for an appointment today?”

“Well, after I finished that conversation with that grandma on the plane,” you start slowly, “I was like, why do we have to force people to hear us talk about crap nobody cares about? Like, how is that fair to anybody? So I figured, I might as well pay and force a therapist to listen to me, right?”

“...Sure.”

“I mean like I’m totally fine, like I’m not...mentally ill or anything, at least I don’t think so?”

“So you don’t have anything specific you want to talk about today? You booked a three hour appointment.”

“Well...I guess I do have _something_ I’d like to talk about…”

“That’s great,” she smiles, and when the silence drags on for a bit too long she pushes a bit more, “What is it you wanted to talk about?”

“Well, more like, I needed help with a problem I’ve been having lately- well not lately...more like my whole life, but I guess it doesn’t really matter-”

“There’s no need to be nervous, (l/n) . You’re in safe space; you can tell me what’s bothering you.”

You sigh shakily, a small chuckle escaping your lips- why were you being so nervous? 

“Take your time."

“Okay so,” you lean forward in your seat, forcing yourself to swallow the weird pit of anxiety threatening to come up your throat, “I’ve been living in New York for the past year- I got a job transfer there, and I spontaneously decided to come back to Tokyo literally last week-”

“That’s quite impromptu.”

“-Yeah, it is,” you chuckle, scratching the back of your neck, “So I came back here without telling _anybody_ \- not even my family or anything. I just...it was really fucking depressing in America- wait, am I allowed to swear?”

“You’re allowed to speak however you want, as long as you’re comfortable.”

“Okay, well, it was the worst fucking year of my life if I’m being honest,” you laugh, shaking your head as you recall the mess of a year you’d had, “I didn’t know anybody there, my job was stressful as fuck, I probably drank more than I ever have since the beginning of college- it was just shit.”

“And you decided to come back to Tokyo because…?”

“Well, because I hated it in America,” you say, “And I missed home.”

“And you didn’t notify any of your family or friends because…?”

“It’s embarrassing?” you chuckle nervously, “I don’t know, I mean I don’t really like making a big deal of things, and I’m still trying to find a place to stay at and like I’m not sure if my old office will take me back-”

“So you’re homeless?” your therapist looks incredulous for the first time, her eyebrows raising in slight concern, “And you don’t have a job?”

“I mean I did kinda come back on really short notice,” you blush slightly in embarrassment, “I didn’t really think things through before I left, okay? I just knew I had to come back- I’m staying at a hotel right now, and I’m sure I’ll get my job back and everything will be okay.”

“Do you often...make impulsive decisions like this?” your therapist asks slowly, pen gripped in her hand, ready to attack your character in that notebook of hers.

“I swear I’m a responsible adult,” you put your hands up in mock-defense, “I just...it’s been a rough year.”

“You mentioned that. Do you want to talk more about it?”

“Not really,” you shake your head, “I mostly just came here about that specific problem I was having.”

“Yes, and what problem is that exactly?” 

You take a deep breath, biting your lip. “I...I’m in love with my childhood friend, and I want to stop being in love with him.” 

The dead silence after you finally admit what you’re doing in this office is deafening. 

You can practically _hear_ your heartbeat, you can see your therapist’s eyes blink slowly as she absorbs what you’re saying, and you don’t know if you want to laugh or cry at how absolutely ridiculous this situation was. 

“You came to therapy...because you’re in love with your childhood friend?” 

_Well when you say it like that it sounds stupid,_ you groan internally, already dreading what she’d write in her notebook about you- probably that you were a fucking idiot who liked wasting her time. 

“Yes,” you nod firmly (it wasn’t firm at all, you clearly didn’t have any confidence), “That’s why I’m here- I’d like to stop being in love with him.” 

“And why is that?” 

“Uh,” suddenly you can’t remember a single thought you’ve ever had, and you struggle to form a coherent sentence, “Because I think it’s ruining my life? That’s half the reason I left Japan in the first place…”

“You left the country because you were in love with your childhood friend?”

“Well he confessed his love for me right before I left and I hadn’t really decided if I wanted to go or not and then he said _that_ and then I _knew_ I had to leave-”

“I’m sorry,” your therapist adjusts her glasses, brow furrowed as she sets down her pen and paper to look at you, “Let me get this straight: you’re in love with your childhood friend, he confessed his love to you last year, you decided to leave the country right after that, and now you’ve decided to come back to Japan with no plans whatsoever about how to navigate your life?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Hm,” she nods slowly, biting the inside of her cheek as she seems to contemplate whether or not she wants to kick you out of her office, “And you’ve decided to start therapy because you think this...infatuation you have with him is ruining your life.”

“Yeah, basically.” 

“And why do you believe that?”

“Uh,” you say dumbly, “I feel like it would be easier to explain everything from the start...if that’s okay with you?” 

“That would be great actually,” your therapist chuckles for the first time, and you can’t help but join in with her, “I’ll admit I’m a bit confused.”

“It’s a long story.”

“We have plenty of time,” she reassures, pointing to the clock and leaning back in her seat, “And I’m here to listen- you’re paying me to listen to your ramblings, remember?”

“You’re right,” you smile a bit more genuinely this time around, relaxing slightly at your therapist’s casualness, “I guess you’re stuck with me for the next three hours.”

“2 hours and 50 minutes, actually,” she corrects, “but no pressure. So where would you like to start?”

“I guess I should start around 18 years ago, in the year 2000- Jesus Christ am I really that old?” you make a disgusted face when you realize how much time has passed since you were a child, “Anyways, that was the year I first met Miya Atsumu…”

__________________________________

A/N: hey y'all :) this is probably the most random story ever, but I literally can't help my atsumu obsession and I've literally read all the fanfic out there, so obviously the logical thing would be to write my own fanfic. this is quite literally going through EVERY YEAR of these mf's relationship from childhood to university, so it's definitely going to be a long ride and some slow, slow, slow burn. i know having the reader literally in therapy is a weird setting for a fanfic, but I definitely have an idea about where this is going so just bear w me for a minute lmao 

also this is an AU where you can somehow get a therapist on short notice who somehow books 3 hours appointments 😭

anyways, updates will be sporadic and long asf but expect the next chapter to come very soon!!! thanks for reading, leave a comment, kudos and check out my other stories if you'd like- and feedback or support is really appreciated!


	2. and then i met you

**_two:_ ** **_and then i met you_ **

_ Hyogo, 2000, age 5 _

  
You’d just lost your first tooth the first time you met Miya Atsumu. 

You’d already finished your first week of kindergarten with a loose tooth towards the back of your mouth; you didn’t care much for it, but your mother made such a fuss about possibly swallowing it while you were eating that it ended up scaring  _ you  _ a bit too. You couldn’t die from that, could you?

So there you were, a snot-nosed kid with one less tooth than everyone else in your class (you were an early bloomer, what can you say). Your father had pulled it out the night prior, his yanking a bit too harsh for your liking ( _ it’s for your own good _ , your mother says;  _ it’s just because he doesn’t have the patience to deal with your whining _ , your older brother says)- but you couldn’t really do anything about it anymore, now could you? 

Regardless, there you were, sitting in your assigned seat, colouring in your workbook and humming quietly to yourself. It was that point in the day where your teacher would tell the class it was ‘quiet time’, which really just meant she was tired and probably wanted to go on her phone for a bit before going back to dealing with 30 tiny brats. 

It had been a week into kindergarten, and you somehow managed to make absolutely no friends. 

It was a talent, really; kids that age had basically no standards for forging friendships- as long as you didn’t smell funny and you liked the same games they did you were pretty much set. You were pretty sure you didn’t smell funny, and you definitely liked playing games, so what was the hold up?

And it wasn’t like you weren’t trying, either: you’d tried talking to basically everyone in your class for the first few days, and they  _ seemed  _ like they reciprocated your enthusiasm; but when it came for ‘home time’ and the parents would pick up their children, you’d see their parent’s eyes light up in recognition when they saw you and your own mother, and then the next day it was like you’d never even talked to them!

_ Sorry, (l/n), I’m already playing with Yamamoto. _

_ Sorry, (l/n), me and Tanaka are already partners. _

_ Sorry, (l/n), I’m still using this crayon. Maybe ask the teacher?  _

It was weird. It didn’t take a genius to notice how almost everybody in class avoided you, but for the life of you you couldn’t understand  _ why _ . It only made it more confusing when they offered you a small smile, and a half-hearted apology, and a random excuse that didn’t really make sense. 

They always said  _ next time, next time;  _ and when the next time came, they’d offer yet another excuse. What was the point of offering in the first place, then?

Why were they being so nice? Why were they being so nice when they made it clear they didn’t like you? Weren’t you only nice to people you liked? That’s what made the most sense in your mind. 

When you’d asked your mom about it, she froze up, a mildly panicked look in her eyes- kind of like in those horror movies your older brother would sometimes watch when the monster would reveal itself. 

_ Just ignore them, sweetie,  _ she reassured, her words coming out a bit rushed,  _ I’m sure you’ll make friends eventually.  _

“But why are they being nice to me if they don’t want to be my friend?”

_ You need to be kind to everyone, whether or not you like them.  _ she explained,  _ Everybody deserves to be treated nicely. It’s the right thing to do.  _

You frowned at her words. You were five years old at the time; your world was limited to your small house in Hyogo, and the various TV shows and movies you watched, and now there was your kindergarten class.

Up until a week ago, the only people you ever really saw were your mother, father, older brother, and your two older sisters. 

Your mother was always nice to you, but sometimes she’d get mad if you made too much of a fuss about going to bed at a certain time. She’d raise her voice slightly, begging you to  _ please just listen _ , saying she was tired and couldn’t deal with you right now. That wasn’t very nice, you thought. 

Your father was...nice to you too, but when you compared him to your mom he didn’t really seem all that nice. He was often at work, and when he came home he was tired. You didn’t really know what he did, but every night he came home he didn’t have time to see what you’d drawn that day, and he rarely ever tucked you in at night.

He was nice, but sometimes he didn’t like you. He didn’t like when you were too loud, or when you cried too much; you’d come to the conclusion he didn’t like when things were  _ too much-  _ which was fine, because you tried not to be. 

Your older brother Haru wasn’t so nice. He was a grown up (to you at least; middle school seemed light years away), and he often holed himself up in his room, screaming on the phone or at his TV while playing games. You tried to join him sometimes, but he always kicked you out. Sometimes he’d ruffle your hair a little too hard, or pinch your ear if you made him angry. 

Haru didn’t say nice things often, either. He called you stupid, and would teach you bad words that would end up getting both you and him in trouble later when you’d say them at the dinner table. He made fun of your missing tooth, too- saying that nobody would want to be friends with you anymore now that you looked weird. 

Your two older sisters were only a year above you, but they insisted that there was a big difference between kindergarten and the first grade. You didn’t know any better, so you believed them when they said they were better than you. 

They weren’t very nice either, that Yuki and Yukiko. They were twins, and even though they practically looked exactly alike they refused to admit it. They were always fighting each other, but they seemed to get along most when they teased you. 

Sometimes they’d pull pranks on you, or blame you for things they did so you’d get in trouble. When you asked them why they did it, they said they didn’t like you. That’s what Haru said too; he said people were mean because they didn’t like you. 

They weren’t  _ always  _ mean though; sometimes Haru let you watch his horror movies with him (as long as you promised not to tell mom), and sometimes Yuki and Yukiko would let you play pretend with them if they needed one more person. So they must’ve liked you  _ sometimes,  _ right? 

You were mean when you didn’t like somebody, and you were nice when you did like somebody. That seemed pretty straight forward to you. 

That’s why your mother’s lesson didn’t make any sense to you. It went against everything you’d seen in your home prior, but since she was an adult you decided you’d consider what she was saying. 

So there you were, missing tooth and all, sitting in your chair and colouring a tree in blue because nobody would lend you their green crayon  _ (sorry, (l/n), maybe you should ask the teacher! _ ). 

It didn’t look  _ that  _ bad. The crayon was more turquoise than pure blue, anyways- and it didn’t kill to think outside the box sometimes, right?

“Why are ya making the tree blue? It looks dumb.” 

Those were the first words he said to you. You remember snapping your head up to see a pair of thick furrowed eyebrows and a fluffy brown head of hair staring down at you with a frown- wait, were there two of them?

You rubbed your eyes, noticing that the two boys wore different expressions on their faces: one looked like he was disgusted at your drawing, while the other one only blankly stared at your paper. 

Oh, they were twins- like Yuki and Yukiko! 

“Uh,” you struggle to find the right words, not used to somebody approaching you first, “I don’t have a green crayon…”

“Well then why don’t ya ask somebody for one?” he rolls his eyes, grabbing your paper and holding it up with a scrutinizing gaze, “Now yer tree looks like the sky does.”

“Atsumu, don’t steal people’s paper, idiot,” the other twin grabs the paper back, placing it on your desk in front of you. 

“I’m not an idiot, you are!”

You stared wordlessly as the twins argued in front of you, your blue tree long forgotten. Did all twins fight like this or something? They really reminded you of your sisters….

“Anyways,” Atsumu snaps his gaze back to you, “We were wondering if you were weird or something, because nobody talks to ya. Right, Osamu?”

Atsumu and Osamu.  _ Nice names,  _ you thought to yourself. 

“Yeah,” Osamu agrees, narrowing his eyes like he was trying to find something wrong with you, “You’re always alone and by yourself. It’s weird.”

“‘Alone’ and ‘by yourself’ are the same thing, ya scrub!” 

“Yer the scrub,  _ scrub _ !” Osamu snaps back, and the twins are fighting again and you’re staring at them and now you’re wondering-

_ Were _ you weird? These complete strangers noticed nobody talking to you, so it wasn’t in your head. 

These two were probably some of the only people you hadn’t come around trying to talk to yet; you’d given up with the people who sat near you already, and from what you could see, the two boys sat on the other side of the class. Did they really come all this way over here to ask if there was something wrong with you?

“I don’t know,” you frown, looking down at your hands, “I don’t know if I’m weird. Am I?”

The twins look down at you with their judgmental faces. Atsumu strokes his chin thoughtfully, leaning down to get a better look at your face. Osamu scratches his head in confusion, but remains standing a few feet away from you. 

“You don’t seem weird to me,” Osamu concludes, and Atsumu nods in agreement.

“Yeah, you look like a normal girl to me,” he says, “Besides your dumb tree.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, and Atsumu gives you that same disgusted look.

“Why are you saying sorry, weirdo?” he grimaces, “Maybe you  _ are _ weird.”

“Yeah, it’s not like you beat us up or anything, why are you saying sorry? That’s weird.”

Your frown deepens. You didn’t know why you said sorry, really. It just seemed like the right thing to say. That’s what your mom said to do when you made a mistake; it was the right thing to do. 

You said sorry when you spilled your juice all over the dinner table. You said sorry when you woke your dad up too early because you were watching morning cartoons too loudly. You said sorry when you accidentally broke your sister’s favorite doll, and when you distracted Haru from studying for an important test. 

And...they’d say sorry sometimes too. It’s just the way things worked; it was the right thing to do. 

“I’m not weird!” you huff, already growing sick of the word, “I don’t know why people aren’t talking to me!”

“Have ya tried asking?” Atsumu looks around, noticing everybody was busy either coloring quietly or talking to each other in their small groups, “You’ll never know if you just sit here alone.”

“Mom says I should just mind my own business,” you say, recalling your mother insisting not to ask too many questions the night prior ( _ it’s not the right thing to do _ , she said). 

“That sounds like our mom too!” Atsumu gasps, his voice a bit too loud, “What else did your mom say?”

“Well, she said that I had to be nice to everyone,” you try to recall everything your mom had ever said to you, not really understanding his question.

“Our mom said that too!” Atsumu gasps again, his hand smacking his open mouth, “Osamu, do we all have the same mom or something?”

“Are you an idiot?” Osamu smacks his twin on the head, earning a loud  _ ow!, _ “They probably just know each other and say the same things to their kids!”

That seemed to appease the three of you, now fully believing your two families were friends who shared parenting advice with each other (spoiler alert: that wasn’t true, you were all just idiots). 

“Well,” Atsumu clears his throat, looking around before leaning in and whispering (way too loudly) in your ear, “Since yer mom said to mind your own business,  _ we  _ can ask why nobody likes you instead!”

“Who are you gonna ask?” You try to look around the classroom for somebody who looked like they were willing to talk, “Everybody’s busy.”

“Idiot,” he rolls his eyes, “We’re gonna ask our grandma! She knows everything, and she said she has eyes in the back of her head so she knows what goes on even when she’s not there- she’ll totally know!”

“Your grandma sounds scary.”

“She is,” Atsumu shivers as he recalls his grandmother, “She smells weird and her skin is all wrinkly- right, Osamu?”

“That’s not a nice thing to say, Atsumu!”

“Well it’s the truth, Osamu! I don’t care if it’s not nice!”

“Do you not like your grandma?” You tilt your head in confusion, wondering why he was saying such mean things, “Is that why you aren’t nice to her?”

“Hah?” Atsumu exclaims, “What does me liking her gotta do with anything? I’m just saying she smells weird!”

Hm. This was all new information to you. So...you could be mean to someone and like them at the same time? That didn’t sound right…

“Hey, Atsumu, Osamu,” you frown, looking up at your classmates, “Can you be nice to someone you don’t like?”

“Well, duh,” Atsumu rolls his eyes, “You can do anything you want. But me and Osamu are only nice to people we like!”

“I’m not like you, idiot, I’m nice to everybody.” Osamu argues, and Atsumu sticks his tongue out at him.

“Osamu’s a scrub,” Atsumu shoves his twin harshly with his shoulder, “ _ I’m  _ the cool twin- you better not forget that, weirdo!”

“My name isn’t weirdo,” you glare up at him, finally coming to the conclusion you didn’t like the nickname he’d given you, “My name is (l/n)(f/n).” 

“Well (l/n), we’re going back to our seat now, but we’ll tell you tomorrow what our grandma says!” Atsumu smiles and gives a thumbs up, but not before stealing your blue crayon, which Osamu quickly snatches and places back in front of you.

“Yeah, (l/n), we’ll tell you why nobody likes you tomorrow.”

It didn’t even occur to you at the time how  _ rude  _ the twins were- you were just happy someone was willing to talk to you, and better yet, willing to tell you why nobody else would. 

You watched them walk back to their seat, pushing and shoving each other the whole way. You found yourself hoping these two twins would want to be friends with you, because you liked them a lot. 

***

“Hey weirdo,” Atsumu bumps shoulders with you right before you enter class, dragging you to the side with his brother, “We found out why nobody likes ya.”

“Really?” you say excitedly, eyes lighting up at the prospect of finding out the truth. You’d barely been able to sleep the night before, anxiously awaiting for the twins’ news. 

“Yeah, but it took a lot of work so ya owe us,” Atsumu points a finger at you, and you eagerly agree to pay them back, “And grandma said we’d get in trouble if we told ya.”

“And we had to ask our cousin too,” Osamu adds in, “Because he’s in middle school and he knows more than our grandma does.”

“Okay, okay,” you rush them, “I’ll pay you guys back, just tell me!”

“Well, grandma said she recognized yer family name,” Atsumu says slowly, trying to recall what he’d been told, “And she said there’s something wrong with yer family.”

“Yeah, it’s not just you, yer entire family is weird,” Osamu elaborates, “Grandma said we should stay away from ya too.”

“Oh,” you frown, “But my family is normal. Are you guys really gonna stay away from me from now on?”

“Nah,” Atsumu waves it off, “Our grandma always says weird stuff like that, she’s probably just old and crazy.”

“Okay.”

“But listen to what our cousin said!” Atsumu's eyes light up, “He said he goes to school with yer brother, and that yer brother is totally normal!”

That sounded about right to you. Haru  _ did  _ have a lot of friends, so he must’ve been a normal person. But that didn’t explain what was wrong with you?

“And when he asked what yer name was and we told him, he said you were a bastard!”

“B-bastard?” you frown, tilting your head to the side as you try to recall ever hearing that word. It sounded new to you, maybe it was just a word grown ups used?

“We don’t know what it means,” Osamu says, “And our cousin said we couldn’t ask grandma because he’d get in trouble, so why don’t we ask our teacher?”

“Our teacher?” you ask, and Atsumu groans.

“Are ya deaf or something?” he sneers, “Osamu- said- you- should- ask- the- teacher!”

He obnoxiously mouths out each word, and your ears ring from the volume he was speaking at. 

“I heard you,” you huff, rubbing your ears,“But what if we get in trouble? Your cousin said your grandma would get mad.”

“Who cares?” Atsumu shrugs his shoulders, a mischievous smile on his face, “It’s not like she’s here to watch us!”

“But your grandma said-”

“Are ya a scaredy-cat, (l/n)?” Atsumu taunts, leaning into your face and glaring, “You said you wanted to find out, so why are ya backing out now?”

“No,” you say confidently, not wanting to disappoint your new friends (wait, were they your friends?), “I’ll ask the teacher.”

The twins smile proudly at you, and you smile back at them, missing tooth and all. They did you a favor by asking their grandma, and now all you had to do was ask your teacher! 

“Tanaka sensei,” you raised your hand twenty minutes later, deciding to ask right after she did the morning attendance, “Can I ask you a question?”

“Yes, (l/n)?” your teacher smiles sweetly at you, eager to enrich the next generation with her knowledge.

“What does ‘bastard’ mean?”

You were sent to the principal’s office almost immediately. You’d kept quiet about where you learned the word from (Haru always said _ snitches get stitches, _ and nobody likes a snitch), and your mom was called and you could hear her frantic apologies through the phone as your principal talked to her. He’d turned to you after he hung up on your mom, giving you a stern lecture about never saying words like that again- they were bad, and if you ever said something like that again you’d be forced to sit in class while everybody else played outside during recess.

You couldn’t help but think, if those words were so bad, why were they being used to describe you? They couldn’t be  _ that  _ bad if that’s what you were, right?

***

Your mom comes a bit later than usual to pick you up that day, which is fine because that meant you had more time to talk to the Miya twins.

“Did ya get in a lot of trouble back there?” Atsumu asks curiously, “Did the principal hit ya or something? That’s what our grandma does when we say bad words!”

“No, teachers can’t hit you,” you say, “It’s against the rules.”

“So then you’re fine?” Atsumu asks, “You didn’t get in trouble?”

“They called my mom and I think she’s mad at me,” you frown, “I don’t know if she’s gonna pick me up now- I think I’m homeless.”

“You can just live with us,” Osamu offers graciously, “Since we’re the ones who got ya in trouble in the first place.”

“No way!” Atsumu protests, “I don’t want a weirdo in our house! What if she eats all our food?”

“I won’t eat your food,” you promise, “I’ll just sleep in the basement and use your bathroom.”

“That’s weird,” Atsumu scowls, “Just sleep in Osamu’s bed. He snores and it’s annoying-  _ he  _ should sleep in the basement.”

“Yer such a scrub, Atsumu!”

“No, you are!”

“So are we friends now?” you ask cautiously, the question had been at the back of your mind all day, “Do you guys like me?”

The twins stop their arguing to look at you, small frowns on their faces. 

“Well, you don’t know how to color in trees,” Atsumu tilts his head, stroking his chin in thought.

“And our grandma said yer family is haunted,” Osamu says pensively, lips pursing. 

“But ya didn’t snitch on us!” Atsumu smiles cheerfully, “So we didn’t get in trouble! So I guess yer not so bad after all!”

“That’s true,” Osamu nods excitedly, “Now we don’t have’ta worry about grandma hitting us!”

The twins high five each other, and turn back to you with their palms out and waiting. It takes you a couple seconds to register that they’re waiting for you to high-five them, which you reluctantly do (Haru always used a shocker-thing when he asked you to high-five him). 

No shock. The twins smile at you, and you smile back, missing tooth and all. 

“So we’re friends?” you ask, a hopeful look in your eye. The twins nod, and you jump up and down excitedly. 

“This is really cool!” you exclaim, “I have  _ two  _ friends now, and they’re twins like Yuki and Yukiko are!” 

“Hah?” Atsumu frowns, “Who’s that?”

“My sisters- they’re twins too.”

“Ew,” Atsumu suddenly looks angry and you’re panicking, “We’re the only twins you need around. You shouldn’t talk to them.” 

“Atsumu, you’re an idiot,” Osamu hits him on the back of his head again, “That’s her family. It’s like asking you not to talk to me again.”

“I wish I didn’t have’ta talk to you again, stupid!”

The three of you play an impromptu game of tag to pass the time waiting for your parents, and you reluctantly wave goodbye to the twins when you see your mother waiting for you by the school gates, not wanting to depart from your new friends so soon.

Your mother grabs onto your wrist a little too tightly as she walks you home, her lips pressed in a thin line and her eyes set straight forward. You wonder why she looks so upset.

“Hey mom,” you decide to start a conversation, “I made friends today.  _ Two  _ friends, to be exact.”

“That’s good, sweetie,” your mom says, though she doesn’t sound all that excited.

The two of you walk in silence for a bit, but when the you arrive at your front door she stops before going in.

“Sweetie?” your mom calls, and you look up at her and nod. 

“Yeah, mom?”

“That word you learned today…” she starts unsurely, “Are the kids at school calling you that?”

“No,” you shake your head, “But that’s what my friends said other people said I was. They said our family was haunted and weird- but Haru was normal.”

“O-oh, is that so?” Your mom’s voice is shaky, but you don’t know why, “Well, just...don’t say that word again, okay? Especially not in the house.”

“Why not?” you frown, wondering why there were so many words in this world you weren’t allowed to say (why did they exist, then? And why were some of them used to describe you?). 

“Because it’s not the right thing to do,” your mom explains, and for the first time you can’t comprehend what the right thing to do was anymore. 

Haru said you were mean to people you didn’t like. Mom said you were nice to everybody, no matter what. Atsumu said he was only nice to people he  _ did  _ like, and Osamu said he was nothing like his brother. 

It made your head hurt. Who would you be nice to, and who would you be mean to? What was the difference between people you liked and didn’t like? Why weren’t you allowed to say some words? And your mom said hiding stuff was bad, so why was she asking you to hide stuff now? 

You nod anyways, not wanting to make your mom upset and stop liking you. You supposed it didn’t matter, because grown ups always knew best and if your mom said it was the right thing to do then you would do it. 

And besides, you’d made two new friends today- and they promised they liked you, even if they _were_ a little mean sometimes.   
____

A/N: Okay so I have decided I will upload once a week probably mondays; I am SO sorry I immediately went down the family drama aspect but I promise it’s not going to be like insane and over the top we just need a lil sprinkle of angst 🤏🏻

Anyways, thanks for reading! Leave a comment, kudos, and check out my other stories if you’d like! Any feedback or support is really appreciated! 


	3. looking for your face

**_three: looking for your face_ **

_ Hyogo, 2001, age 6 _

You’re six years old when you realize that you don’t like liars. 

You’d always known you didn’t like when people  _ lied _ , but now you knew that some people lied more than others- and you definitely didn’t like them. 

Unfortunately, the world was full of liars. 

There were the kids in your class who would make things up, trying to seem cooler, tougher,  _ better  _ than they actually were; there were the adults who kept secrets and told you only grown ups would understand; there was your mom, who refused to tell you what the word  _ bastard _ meant, and why she prohibited even talking about it after that day. 

Your dad was a liar. He said he was too tired to tuck you in at night, but he’d do it for Yuki and Yukiko just fine; you even heard the hushed whispers of him reading them a bedtime story a couple times before. 

Haru was a liar too. He had weird magazines under his bed that he  _ swore  _ were for school, but then he said he’d kill you if you ever told mom or dad. Sometimes you’d catch him sneaking out in the middle of the night, which he  _ swore  _ was just to get the mail- so then why was he all dressed up? He’d bring girls over when nobody else was home, and he smelled funny sometimes, and he’d insist he was doing the right thing but then tell you to keep your mouth shut. 

Then there were the other kids at school, who pretended to be nice to you only to push you away whenever you got close. 

Liars, all of them. You didn’t like it- why couldn’t people just be honest? It was confusing, and unnecessary, and annoying and you didn’t understand why people bothered lying when it didn’t help anyone involved. 

Atsumu never lied to you. 

_ He  _ was the one who told you why nobody liked you in the first place, and even then he still wanted to be your friend. He’d tell you if your hair was all messed up, or if you smelled funny after the three of you spent the day running around outside, or if you spelled or pronounced a word wrong. 

And he didn’t do it to be mean either, not like Haru or Yuki and Yukiko- he did it because he was your friend. 

Because while your siblings had no problems tearing you down when you messed up, they never praised you when you did something right; Atsumu did. 

He’d been ecstatic when you showed him that you could tie your shoes faster than anybody else in your class, and when you brought one of Haru’s scary movies to their home over the summer he’d been so excited he nearly burst your eardrums with his screaming. You grew to live to hear his signature ‘ _ that’s so cool!’ -  _ soon that became one of the most important things to you. 

You never wanted to disappoint Atsumu. You never wanted him to stop thinking you were cool, lest he stop being your friend. You found yourself doing things for the sole purpose of impressing him, always quickly turning around to see his excited smile and thumbs up. 

Sure, he was a bit competitive, always catching up to you a couple days later just so he wasn’t left behind- but that only meant you had to find  _ another  _ thing to be good at, so he wouldn’t think you were boring. 

And you liked Osamu too, don’t get it wrong! He was as good as the two of you were, if not better.  _ He’d  _ learned how to write really complicated words before you and Atsumu did, and he could jump really far and he caught up with you as quickly as Atsumu did—

You just liked Atsumu a bit more (not that you’d ever dare say that, that was the  _ one  _ lie you were okay with telling). 

Maybe it was because despite the two being quite similar, Atsumu was just a  _ little  _ more honest than he was.

Osamu didn’t tell you when you messed up spelling his name, or when there was a bug in your hair ( _ he didn’t want to freak ya out,  _ he’d said), and he didn’t tell you what he and Atsumu fought about the day before even though Atsumu had told you all about it during lunch. 

Osamu was the nice twin, but he was nice to everybody and you didn’t like that. At least, not as much as you liked how Atsumu was only nice to people he liked. 

Because Atsumu was basically only nice to you and people he thought were cool- which meant  _ you  _ were cool too, right? 

Either way, you’re six years old, and you’d just started the first grade with the two twins (luckily) in the same class as you!

The three of you had spent basically the past year joined at the hip, both in and out of school. Kindergarten did offer a lot of free time for your group of friends to play around, but thanks to the endless amount of energy you children had, playdates were often scheduled after school and on weekends as well.

(They were usually at the Miya’s house; they’d come over to your house a couple times towards the beginning of your friendship but that bridge was burned as quickly as it was built — your mom said it was because the twin’s lived closer to the school so it was easier, but  _ you  _ think it’s because the last time they were over they’d broken your dad’s favorite mug and made Yuki and Yukiko cry by saying they had the cooties. 

Regardless, it was fine by you because they had cooler snacks in their kitchen and their mom liked you a lot because you were a girl and she’d always wanted a daughter, at least that’s what she said. It made you happy because Yuki and Yukiko were girls so you weren’t very special in your own home.)

You liked it. When the three of you were at school you were confined to the small playground with teachers all around watching you, and sometimes other kids would talk to the twins and ask to play and then their attention wouldn’t be on you and you didn’t like that; but when you hung out at their house, you were the only person they were focused on. 

Was that a bad thing? Your mother always said it wasn’t right to be selfish, and that not everything was about  _ you  _ all the time. And all the heroes in the TV shows you watched never thought about themselves, always putting others before them. 

Well, you supposed it couldn’t be  _ that  _ bad of a thing; afterall, your dad was selfish, and so was Haru and Yuki and Yukiko. Your dad needed everything clean in the house all the time, he needed everything to be quiet because that’s how  _ he  _ liked it. Haru didn’t want anybody in his room ever, and he demanded you bring snacks to his door sometimes because  _ he  _ wanted it. Yuki and Yukiko always asked about the Miya twins because they liked them, and they were always telling you to put in a good word for them- because that’s what  _ they  _ wanted.

Atsumu was selfish sometimes too, but it was fine when it was him because...well, you don’t really know why. It just didn’t bother you so much when Atsumu did bad things because you knew that much like the adults in your life, it couldn’t be  _ that  _ bad if he was doing them. 

Right? 

So you decided it wasn’t so bad if you were selfish about  _ one  _ little thing. You liked being with the twins, and you didn’t like when their (read: Atsumu’s) attention wasn’t on you, because what if they forgot about you and found somebody cooler and then you went back to having no friends?

You weren’t a bad person because of one little thing, just like how everybody else in your life weren’t bad people because they were a little selfish sometimes, too. 

(Besides, you didn’t have to tell anybody about these feelings of yours, anyways — it was like how you didn’t say you liked Atsumu more than Osamu.)

“Hey, (y/n)!” Atsumu waves excitedly at you when you meet at the school gates, Osamu waving a little less enthusiastically than his twin, but still smiling nonetheless.

“Good morning Atsumu,” you smile brightly at them, “Osamu.”

“Mornin’.”

“So did ya bring anything cool today?” Atsumu jumps excitedly, already circling around to open your backpack and trying to rummage through it. You freeze up— 

Shoot. You’d totally forgotten to bring something today. 

You didn’t really remember how it started, but the three of you had a ritual of some sort: every morning you’d bring something you found from home that you thought was interesting, and more often than not, the twins would find it cool too. 

Sometimes it was one of Haru’s video games, or a cool rock you found in your backyard, or one of your sister’s fancy snacks your mom kept hidden in the cupboards because they were on some sort of special diet; one time you found a picture of your dad as a kid, and the three of you found it so  _ weird  _ seeing your dad (your stoic, serious, scary dad) all small and young and smiling like you were that Atsumu swore he had nightmares about it the next night. 

But you’d forgotten to bring something today. How could you forget something so important? Now your entire day would be messed up, because Atsumu wouldn’t say you were cool and now he probably wouldn’t want to play with you at recess anymore and then Osamu would follow him because they go everywhere together and then you’d be alone— 

“I’m sorry,” you frown, voice shaky, “I-I didn’t bring anything today. I forgot.”

“Hah?” Atsumu frowns, taking his hands out of your backpack and coming to stand in front of you with his arms crossed over his chest, “That’s so lame! Now I’m bored!”

You feel yourself choke up at how disappointed he is- how could you be so stupid? Why, why,  _ why _ did you have to forget? Now Atsumu was bored and it was all your fault. 

You remembered feeling this way before, multiple times in your life. Like when you didn’t put your dishes away and your mom frowned at you, or when you tracked mud in with your shoes and your dad screamed at you, or when you didn’t ride fast enough on your bike and Yuki and Yukiko left you behind, or when Haru would berate you for getting scared during one of his movies. 

People were nice when they liked you, and they were mean when they didn’t like you; and people didn’t like you when you didn’t do what they wanted. That’s why you  _ always  _ did what everybody wanted- especially Atsumu. You didn’t know what you’d do if he stopped liking you, and now you forgot and now he didn’t like you and you felt like you were going to die— 

“Atsumu,” Osamu slaps his brother at the back of his head, rolling his eyes, “Stop asking (y/n) for cool stuff all the time, ya scrub. Yer not even cool yourself.”

“I  _ am  _ cool, idiot! I’m the coolest!” Atsumu shoves his brother back, turning back to look at you, “Right, (y/n)?”

You look at him, nodding immediately. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that Atsumu was the coolest person you knew. 

“Atsumu’s the coolest!” you give him a thumbs up, heart fluttering when he gives you a toothy grin back (maybe he didn’t hate you after all?).

“(Y/n)’s such a genius,” Atsumu ruffles your hair fondly, hand staying on the base of your neck for a split second before he takes it off, “Just remember to bring something cool tomorrow, so we don’t get bored.”

“O-okay!” You agree, picking up your pace to catch up to Atsumu, who was already walking into the building with Osamu following close behind the two of you. 

***

It’s the summer now, and since it’s Sunday that means you get to spend time at the Miya’s house- and for the whole day too!

There was this tree at the end of their street: tall, with branches that seemed to reach up to the sky, and if you climbed to the top you’d probably be able to see all the way to Tokyo- at least, that’s what Atsumu thought.

Obviously the three of you tried to climb it. 

“You guys oughta be careful! I’m not calling the ambulance if you die!” Osamu chastises from the ground, having given up climbing five minutes prior because he’d almost slipped (Atsumu laughed, and almost fell off himself).

“Don’t worry, Osamu!” You call out, reaching an arm up to the next branch and hoisting yourself up, finally reaching the top of the tree, with Atsumu close behind. 

You looked up at the view before you: you couldn’t see Tokyo, but you could see the supermarket that was at the edge of town which was pretty cool you supposed. 

“What’s it like up there?” Atsumu yelled, one branch below you. 

“Come see for yourself.”

Atsumu grins, hoisting himself up to sit on the opposite branch and eagerly taking in the view. 

“This is so cool! I think I see the Tokyo Towers from here!” 

“It’s just one of our power lines, Atsumu.”

“Oh,” Atsumu frowns in disappointment, “That’s lame.”

“Guys!” Osamu yells from below you, hands cupped around his mouth to project his voice, “I’m gonna head home! I’m hungry!”

“Call us when dinner is ready!” Atsumu yells back, holding the base of the tree and slowly moving over to the branch you were sitting on (you still don’t know how you guys weren’t absolutely terrified of dying at the time).

“Osamu is so lame,” Atsumu sighs, eyes transfixed on the view in front of him, “He’s always thinkin’ about food and stuff.”

You didn’t think it was lame. You thought it was cool that Osamu knew what he liked; you had no idea what you liked to be honest. You just liked whatever Atsumu or Osamu liked.

Osamu liked food, and playing with his friends, and he liked hitting his brother when he thought he was being an idiot. You liked food too, but Osamu’s friends didn’t really like you because you were a girl and girls had cooties. And you’d never hit Atsumu….so you guess you didn’t really like the same stuff as Osamu after all. 

Atsumu liked running really fast and climbing really high and watching scary movies and exploring the forests surrounding your homes; he liked fatty tuna and instant ramen and staying up late into the night and he liked playing those DMX games on the computer, so you liked all those things too. 

You were lucky you had older siblings, because you often got to show the twins new things they’d grow to like: you were their main source of new things in general, and it filled you with pride that you could impress them because it wasn’t often people looked at you with awe. 

“Hey Atsumu,” you call his name and turn to stare at his side profile, “Do you like Osamu more or me?”

Before you can feel bad about asking such a selfish question, Atsumu answers you — 

“You,  _ duh _ ,” Atsumu rolls his eyes, “Osamu is a scrub, and yer not so I like you more.”

“Oh,” you say dumbly, your cheeks warming, “I like you more than my brother too.”

“Ma’ said family and friends are different though,” Atsumu explains, “So even if I have friends they’ll never be Osamu.”

“Oh,” your tone drops in slight disappointment, wondering what you had to do to earn an equal place in his life that his brother had.

“But I  _ chose  _ to be friends with ya,” Atsumu says and you perk up, “I didn’t choose to be brothers with that stupid Osamu.”

Hm. You never thought about it that way before. You supposed it  _ did _ mean more to be chosen rather than born into a relationship; because if you  _ did  _ have to choose which family you wanted to be in, you’d probably choose to be with the Miya’s. 

“Why are ya always asking if we like you and stuff?” Atsumu raises an eyebrow at you, “It’s weird. Why would we hang out with you if we didn’t like ya?”

“I-I don’t know,” you fiddle with your fingers instead of looking at him, “What if you change your mind one day?”

“Then I’ll tell ya,” Atsumu says, and you don’t know if you should be relieved or disappointed, “But that’s not happening.”

“Why not?”

“Because yer cool,” Atsumu smiles and smacks the back of your neck, shaking you slightly. “So stop being a scrub and asking the same questions all the time.” 

(He always did that, and it always kind of hurt but you didn’t have the heart to ask him to stop.)

The two of you spend the next couple minutes trying to point out the different sites you could see from so high up: the beach on the other side of town, your school, the high school your brother went to; but you found yourself caring less and less about the view from where you were sitting and more about who you were sitting beside. 

Had Atsumu always been so pretty? 

You never really noticed before, but his face was just...nice. His bushy eyebrows looked like caterpillars to you, but you liked caterpillars so it didn’t bother you too much. And his eyes were the same colour of honey, or maybe chocolate, or your favorite teddy bear; you couldn’t tell exactly, but you liked them too. You liked how they drooped downwards, making him look less excitable than he really was. His ears jutted out too, like a monkey’s, and his hair was so fluffy and messy and his skin was the same colour as the clouds and you realized you would never grow tired of looking at his face, of hearing his voice talking about everything he liked and didn’t like, of seeing him smile at you when you did something that impressed him. 

You’d never grow tired of Atsumu- never. 

And you’d do everything in your power to make sure he’d never grow tired of you either; you wanted to stay by his side, and you wanted to listen to him talk about how he was  _ sure  _ that you could see the Tokyo Tower from this high up —

Because when it was  _ him  _ pointing at the horizon, you swore you could see it from there, too. 

***

It was fall now, and the three of you were watching some cartoon in the living room; Atsumu and Osamu on the floor laying on their stomachs while you rested on the couch, all of you eating the onigiri their mother made for you guys to snack on (Miya-san’s onigiri was your favorite thing to eat, more than your mom’s cooking). 

Osamu had gone to the bathroom during the commercial break, leaving you and Atsumu in the living room alone. He’d sent you a mischievous wink, and before you could ask him what he was doing he’d taken a huge bite out of his brother’s onigiri, polishing it off with an obnoxious  _ gulp _ .

The younger twin had noticed his missing food almost immediately upon returning, snapping his gaze to his brother who only looked up at him innocently. 

“What?” he’d asked, the little shit still busy chewing the onigiri he’d stolen.

“Did you eat my food?” Osamu asks calmly, but you could tell he was contemplating homicide. 

“N-no!” Atsumu huffs, “Why would I do that?”

“I’m going to kill you!” Osamu tackles his brother, the two siblings rolling around on the floor screaming obscenities at each other. 

“I didn’t do it, ya scrub!” Atsumu yells, punching his brother in the head, “Ask (y/n)! (Y/n), tell him I didn’t eat his stupid food!”

“(Y/n),” Osamu puts his brother in a headlock, the older twin desperately trying to get out of the chokehold and tapping on his wrist, “Did stupid Atsumu eat my food or not?”

You gulp. 

You didn’t like liars. You didn’t like liars, so you didn’t lie because you didn’t want to be somebody you wouldn’t like (unless it was about how you liked Atsumu a  _ bit  _ more than Osamu- that was the one lie you were allowed to tell). 

And...you thought Atsumu didn’t lie either. You figured, because he wasn’t like the liars in your class who pretended to be nice just for the sake of it- he was only nice to people he liked. 

_ Liked _ . 

Atsumu said he liked you. He liked you more than Osamu, because he  _ chose  _ you; he chose you to be his friend, and that meant more than getting stuck with your family, who were liars and selfish and mean to you sometimes. 

Atsumu thought you were cool, and he liked you and you liked him too, and you never wanted him to leave—

So you lied for him. 

“H-he didn’t do it,” your voice comes out quiet and shaky, but it’s enough to free Atsumu from his brother’s chokehold and barreling towards you, practically tackling you into a hug and obnoxiously whining about how he’d almost died thanks to Osamu. 

Osamu looks at you and narrows his eyes for a second: “Ya sure about that, (y/n)?”

“Y-yeah, I’m sure.” you hesitantly pat the back of Atsumu’s head as he buries his head in your stomach, which hurts from the prospect of  _ lying.  _

“‘Kay,” Osamu nods, though he doesn’t seem like he believes you, “I’m gonna go ask mom for another one, then. Stop comforting stupid Atsumu- he’s being a big baby.”

“Shut up, ya damn pig!” Atsumu sits up and turns to go berate his brother, but Osamu is already walking off towards the kitchen, disinterested in his brother’s childish antics. 

Atsumu simultaneously stops caring too, dropping down on the couch beside you and slouching in his seat, happily patting his tummy. 

“Ah, thanks for covering for me, (y/n).”

“Atsumu,” you frown, looking down at your hands as you try to find the right words to say, “Why did you lie? I thought you didn’t lie.”

“Hah?” It was now his turn to frown, “When did I say somethin’ like that?”

“Oh,” your brow furrows as you try to recall him ever explicitly saying that, “I just thought...because you never did it before, so…”

“Yer such a goody-two-shoes, (y/n),” Atsumu rolls his eyes and flicks your temple, “It isn’t bad ta lie sometimes, ya know?”

“I-it isn’t?”

“No,” Atsumu says confidently, “You can lie if yer tryin’ not to get in trouble or something— it doesn’t hurt anybody that way, right?”

“Y-yeah, I guess so…” your head hurts as you try to process his words. So it was okay to lie sometimes, as long as it didn’t hurt anybody?

But didn’t the two of you just hurt Osamu by stealing his food?

“Are ya mad at me or something?” Atsumu grabs your hand to get your attention, and you immediately shake your head- you could never be mad at him, you were just confused. 

“If it makes ya feel better, I won’t lie to you,” he says tentatively, and you perk up a bit at that, making him smile. 

“Even if it’s bad?”

“If that’s what you want, ya weirdo.”

“Okay,” you smile happily, holding up a pinkie between you two, “Let’s pinky promise then.”

Atsumu locks pinkies with you, wrapping around your finger a bit too aggressively but you don’t care because he’d just promised to never lie to you (even if he lied to other people sometimes).

“I promise to tell ya the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth- even if it’s bad!”

“Me too.” you promise, and for the first time in what feels like your entire life, you forget about how the world is full of liars— you had Atsumu now, and he’d tell you the truth even when nobody else would.

(Later on, you wonder if being completely honest with Atsumu meant telling him you thought that he was beautiful, or that you never wanted his attention to stray from you, or that you wanted to keep holding hands with him even if he didn’t need to guide you somewhere or get your attention—

You decided to bite your tongue for now. You’d just tell him some other time.)

* * *

A/N: Okay so basically the next 5-7 chapters will be them growing up, then after that it’ll be 2 chapters per year of high school if that makes sense (?) and these are just snippets of moments throughout the years...yall I’ve been awake since 4 am idk wtf I’m saying 

Thanks for reading! Leave a comment, kudos, and check out my other stories if you’d like- any feedback or support is really appreciated! 


	4. they fuck you up; they don’t mean to but they do

**_four: they fuck you up, they don’t mean to but they do_ **

_Tokyo, 2018, age 23_

  
“You mentioned you don’t like liars,” your therapist taps her pen against her paper pensively, looking up at you through the glare of her glasses, “Multiple times throughout this conversation, actually. Is honesty something you value a lot?”

“Well, yeah,” you nod, “It’s kind of like, the only thing I ask of other people.”

“You said the world is full of liars, though; how does that make you feel?”

“I mean, _everybody_ lies; but obviously there’s a line to it,” you scratch the back of your neck, suddenly feeling like you’re being interrogated, “Like the occasional white lie isn’t bad, especially if you’re trying to save your own ass-”

“Like Atsumu did? When he ate his brother’s food?”

“-Sure, yeah, I guess,” you agree, “I just don’t like when people _hide_ things, or pretend to be somebody they’re not, you know?”

“For example…?”

“Like...how the kids at school used to pretend to be nice when they just thought I was a bastard,” you say slowly, trying to think of an example, “Or that grandma, who pretended she cared about why I was in Tokyo when really she just wanted to talk about herself.”

“Do you lie?” your therapist asks, a blank look on her face. You gulp, suddenly feeling a bead of sweat drop down your forehead.

“Uh, I mean who doesn’t?” you chuckle nervously, “I try my best to be honest even if it doesn’t always work in my favour, but I’m not a naive kid anymore- I know when to bite my tongue.”

“Would you call yourself an honest person? With yourself and others?”

“I’d like to think so,” you smile, a bit weirded out about her sudden line of questioning, “I don’t really lie to other people unless it’s necessary, and I’m always honest with myself.”

“Always?”

“Yeah, I’d like to think I’m pretty self aware,” you say, “That’s why I’m in therapy, right? Because I know I need help?”

“With how to fall out of love with your childhood friend Atsumu.”

“That’s correct….” you’re starting to think your therapist is slow or something, because she keeps repeating the strangest things, “So should I continue my story about Atsumu, or…?”

“Actually, let’s circle back to your family for a bit,” your therapist interrupts you, “You mentioned the kids at school saying you were a bastard?”

“Well they didn’t _say_ it, they just thought it,” you say lamely, “It was a small country town, you know? People gossip.”

“Okay, but why would they think that in the first place?”

“My mom had an affair and got knocked up with me,” you shrug, your shame about your story long since past, “And because it’s a small town everybody found out and they looked down on her for that- and by extension, _me_ , I guess.”

“Does that bother you?”

“It used to?” you say unsurely, “I mean, it didn’t make any sense why _I_ was having to pay the consequences for just...being born, you know? It’s not like I asked for my mom to cheat on her husband or whatever, I’m just the end product of a mistake she made.”

“You think your birth was a mistake?”

“Well technically it was,” you laugh awkwardly, “I’m not suicidal or anything, so don’t go writing down something crazy in your notebook. I’m just stating a fact.”

“I’m not writing anything down, I’m simply trying to understand your family dynamic,” she explains, already moving on to her next topic, “So your father- the one who raised you, did he ever...treat you differently?”

“From his other kids? Yeah I guess so...I mean, I don’t really blame him- I’m not his kid, right? I was basically just some random brat eating his food and using his electricity. Not to mention the fact I was probably a constant reminder of his and my mom’s relationship troubles.”

“Do you feel responsible for your parent’s relationship troubles?”

“No,” you scoff lightly, “Like I said, I didn’t ask to be born, so I don’t feel bad. I’m just stating facts.”

“Okay,” she nods her head, but for some reason it doesn’t look like she believes you, “So how did you find out the truth about your origins, then? How old were you?”

“I think I was seven,” you scratch your head as you try to recall the blurry details, “And my older brother Haru told me, since nobody in my house ever liked to talk about anything _real_ besides him.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah,” you laugh again because you don’t know what else to do, “It is so...do you want me to go into more detail about it or something?”

“If you’re comfortable sharing this part of your story, I’d be happy to hear it.”

“That’s fine,” you shift in your seat uncomfortably, not really expecting to have to divulge the nasty details of your homelife, “O-okay, so…”

**** _Hyogo, 2002, age 7_

“Dad isn’t your real dad.” 

Yup. That was it, that’s the way Haru decided to break the news to you at seven years old. Quite unceremonious of him, but honestly would it have been any better if he’d sugar-coated it? 

You’d grown sick of holding it in; you’d grown sick of biting your tongue, of pretending not to know what everybody was calling you behind your back, thinking of you in their heads. You were sick of staying quiet so that your mom would be happy and your dad wouldn’t get mad and everything could stay the way it was. 

What was so great about the way things were, if it was all a lie? If the only thing standing between the fragile peace you had and utter chaos was a single word? 

So you decided to ask Haru. Haru was a grown up now at 15 years old, and despite how mean he was to you, he was also the nicest person in your house (besides your mom, of course). 

Your dad was still always at work, and when he got home you still heard the hushed whispers of him reading a bedtime story to your sisters (sometimes you’d listen too, and fall asleep to the faint whispers of tales of princesses from the moon and dragons and talking animals and magic). He’d ask you to help him tear up his bills sometimes if the paper shredder wasn’t working, and one time for your birthday he’d gotten you that doll you really wanted— but moments like that were far and few between. 

Your mother was nice, no doubt in your mind. She made pancakes on the weekends, and she’d let you help if you woke up early enough. She picked you up from school and she let you stay at the Miya’s house whenever you wanted, and she’d help you get into your school uniform if she had time in the morning between taking care of four kids. 

She was a liar though, or a goody-two-shoes as Atsumu liked to call it. She was always asking you to keep secrets, to stay quiet and small and nice and good because it was the right thing to do and please, _please_ don’t mention this to your father, don’t mention that to your father, he’ll get mad— your mom was too nice for her own good, you thought, but she made you pancakes and hung up your drawings on the fridge so you’d listen to her. You’d lie for her too, because you didn’t want her to get in trouble (it was okay to lie when it was for that reason, right?). 

Yuki and Yukiko were scrubs. They’d always take your toys and nice clothes but never share their own with you. They pretended they didn’t know you at school, and refused to walk home with you (unless the Miya twins joined). They picked fights and teased and pulled your hair and sometimes you wished you could trade them for the Miya twins because _they_ never pulled your hair unless it was a joke. 

And you didn’t like how they tried to steal the twins away from you. They already stole your favorite stuffed animal, and those cool socks you’d gotten the last time you went to the mall and they didn’t share any of _their_ friends with you, so why did you need to share the twins? _Your_ twins? 

That’s why Haru was now your favorite in the house. 

He used to be mean, but now that he was all grown up he’d gotten nicer. He picked you up from the Miya household when mom was too busy, and he’d share his snacks with you, and if you stayed up late enough at night you guys would bake a frozen pizza in the oven and share it. He let you watch movies with him if he didn’t have any other friends over to watch it with, and he let you borrow some of his old stuff to show the Miya twins. 

Atsumu and Osamu liked him too. They thought he was the coolest, and you think Haru liked them too because he ruffled their hair sometimes and laughed at their jokes and when they’d fight each other. 

Haru was gonna learn how to drive next year. He promised he’d bring the three of you to the beach once he got his licence, and you were really looking forward to it. 

That didn’t mean he wasn’t mean sometimes, too. Haru would kick you out of his room if he had friends over, he’d scream at you if you distracted him while studying, and he teased you about your friendship with the Miya twins, namely Atsumu. 

You didn’t know what ‘crush’ meant, but it sounded bad; like when Godzilla came in and destroyed the Tokyo skyline, or how sometimes Atsumu would step on ants when you guys walked outside. You didn’t like that word, but couldn’t help the embarrassed blush you’d get whenever Haru teased you about your...crush on Atsumu. 

You didn’t want to crush Atsumu. You never wanted to step on him, you didn’t even think it was possible to do that to someone who was taller than you, bigger than you, _brighter_ than you. How could you possibly crush somebody like him? If anything, _you_ were the ant underneath the sole of his shoe. 

That was besides the point— it had been two years, and you _still_ didn’t know what the word bastard meant. 

Not that you really tried asking; you couldn’t ask your parents (lest they get mad or lie), you couldn’t ask your teachers (lest _they_ get mad and call your parents again), and you couldn’t ask Yuki and Yukiko (because they were scrubs who didn’t know anything either, and they’d probably tell on you). 

So Haru was your best option. He was old, and mature and he was nice now so he’d definitely tell you, and snitches get stitches so he wouldn’t tell on you either. 

You decide to ask him on a weekday night, when your mom was busy cleaning up after dinner and your sisters were watching TV and your dad was in the shower. Haru had retired early that night to do homework, but you knew that just meant he was reading manga and didn’t want to be bothered. 

You knock on his door quietly, opening it just a crack when he doesn’t bother answering. 

“Haru?” You call out timidly, shrinking into yourself when you hear his annoyed sigh. 

“What?” He asks, clearly annoyed, “I’m busy.”

“I- can I ask you a question?” You open the door fully now, stepping into his room and closing the door behind you.

“Why are you asking if you can ask a question instead of just asking the question?” 

“Well, because you said you’re busy…”

He sighs, putting his manga down and turning his desk chair towards you, “What is it?” 

You look down at the floor, scratching the back of your neck, “I, uh- what does the word _bastard_ mean?” 

There’s a long silence after you ask your question. Haru’s eyes widen a fraction before he returns to a more neutral face, leaning in his seat and looking like he’s contemplating telling you.

“If I tell you, you can’t tell mom or dad.” 

“I won’t.” 

“I’m being serious, (y/n),” he threatens, “I’m not trying to get in trouble because you’re a snitch.” 

“I’m not a snitch!” You huff, not understanding where he’d even gotten the idea from— you never ratted him out. 

“Fine,” he sighs, stretching his arms out and yawning, “ _bastard_ means you were born out of wedlock.” 

“...Huh?” You were seven years old, not a genius. 

He rolls his eyes, “It means dad isn’t your real dad, idiot.” 

Your eyes widen as you take in his words. What did _that_ mean? Your dad wasn’t real? He was a fake dad? 

“Mom...she cheated on dad with some guy she knew and then she got pregnant with you.” He explains, but it only serves to confuse you more.

“Cheated?” You frown, not understanding the words in that context. Cheating...like how Atsumu cheats at Mario Kart sometimes? Or how Atsumu sometimes looked at Osamu’s homework instead of figuring it out himself? 

“It means that mom kissed another guy who wasn’t dad,” Haru gives the PG version of it to you, “You know how when you’re married you’re only allowed to kiss that person?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Well mom broke that rule,” Haru says, “She kissed another guy and then she had you.” 

Your mom broke a rule? Your mom...who always told you to follow the rules and do the right thing, she’d cheated? That didn’t sound right to you; you couldn’t believe it. 

“I- I don’t believe you,” you furrow your brow and glare at him, convinced he was teasing you again, “Mom would never do that- she loves dad. And...she doesn’t break the rules! She doesn’t cheat because that’s not right!” 

Haru sighs, chuckling bitterly, “Yeah, well when you grow up you’ll see that grown ups don’t always do the right thing. Mom did the wrong thing- she’s not a perfect person.” 

“So...I’m a ‘wrong thing’?” You frown, trying to understand his logic. 

“Nah,” Haru shakes his head, “Just the product of one.” 

“And that’s why...kids at school don’t wanna be my friend?” 

Haru opens and closes his mouth, then presses his lips in a thin line. You don’t know that look on his face, you don’t think you’d ever seen it on him before, but it looked like how your mom did that day she’d picked you up and she told you never to mention _that_ word ever again. 

(You’d learn later that it was pity— you hated that look more than anything.)

“I- it’s a small town, kid,” Haru says slowly, “People here gossip because there’s nothing better to do and they judge everyone but themselves. It’s not your fault.”

“That mom did the wrong thing? Or that it’s a small town?” 

“Both,” Haru tells you, but you can’t help but feel like it _was_ your fault. 

Were you the reason your mom looked so sad all the time? Even when she was smiling...her eyes looked like they were frowning. Were you the reason your parents (or your mom and fake dad) slept in different rooms sometimes? Because your mom did the wrong thing and now the product of that wrong thing was just walking around like everything was okay? 

You think about your home. There were _five_ seats at the dinner table. _Five_ seats in your family car. The living room had enough space for _five_ people. Five…

You never really noticed it before, because there was always somebody missing; Haru was in his room, or your dad was at work or you were with the Miya twins, but…

It was you, wasn’t it? The extra piece, the [wrong] thing that didn’t really belong, right? You’d been taking somebody’s seat, someone else’s place the whole time, and you didn’t even realize it until now. 

You’d taken Yuki’s old stuffed bear when you were younger, but she’d taken it back soon after even though you still needed it to sleep. You’d borrowed Yukiko’s running shoes too, but she took them back because she needed them for P.E. You took Haru’s old manga to show the twins, and you took up your mom’s time and your dad’s space when you didn’t really belong in the first place. 

That bumper sticker on the back window of your family car...was there even a sixth person in it? 

Bastard.

So that’s why nobody wanted to be around you, huh? Because you weren’t supposed to be there in the first place. Because you didn’t belong; you were taking up a space that wasn’t meant to be there. 

It was a small town, there wasn’t room for somebody who wasn’t supposed to be there. It was a small town, a small house, a small car; and you were too big. 

Suddenly you understand why your mom always told you to do the right thing; why she told you to be quiet and nice and kind and small— because _you_ were a wrong thing, or the product of a wrong thing, it didn’t matter because all you knew was that you were _wrong_. 

_You_ were the lie, the hate, the bad thing, the sin; that’s why people didn’t want to be around you, that’s why people lied and hid and called you weird and a snitch and looked at you with those sad eyes— because you weren’t a good thing, so why would they do the right thing when you didn’t deserve it? 

That’s why your father wouldn’t tuck you in at night, right? Why your Christmas and birthday presents were always a _little_ smaller than everyone else’s. Why you had to listen to bedtime stories from the other side of a wall, why _your_ voice was always a little bit louder than everyone else’s in his ears, why he never liked hugging you all that much. It was because he was your fake dad, and you weren’t supposed to be there. 

That’s why Yuki and Yukiko didn’t like letting you borrow things, why they always took your things— because it was never _yours_ to begin with. They were just taking back what was supposed to belong to them. 

It all made sense to you; you knew Haru wasn’t lying, because for the first time in your life everything made sense. It was you all along, huh? You were the secret being hidden from yourself. You were the monster in the closet, the thing that _crushed,_ trampled, took; **_you weren’t supposed to be there._ **

You didn’t know how to feel. It felt wrong to feel sad when _you_ were the problem, but it felt wrong to be happy too because it was _your_ fault. 

You just thank Haru for telling you the truth and promise not to snitch on him, deciding you’d ask the twins how you were supposed to feel tomorrow. 

***

“I know what the word _bastard_ means now,” you decide to bring it up on your walk home with the twins a couple days later; for some reason you didn’t have the energy (or was it strength?) to talk about it until now. 

A weird part of you was apprehensive about telling them. You didn’t know why, but it felt like if they knew what the word meant...maybe they would finally see things the way everybody else did and stop wanting to be your friend. 

But it was the right thing to do- at least in your eyes, it was. You wanted to know the truth, you wanted to be truthful; you didn’t want to be a liar, even if you _were_ a mistake. You were a mistake, and too big and too loud and just plain wrong, but you didn’t want to be a liar- not on top of all the other bad things there were about you. 

You wanted to like one thing about yourself. 

And you’d promised Atsumu you’d tell him the truth; the whole truth, and nothing but the truth- even if it was bad. So even if you were scared that the twins would leave you, you needed to tell them because that was the right thing to do. 

“Really?” Atsumu stops his rambling about how he hated your teacher, perking up a bit. Osamu turns to look at you too in mild interest. 

“Yeah,” you say quietly, gripping the straps of your backpack a bit tighter than normal, “Haru told me. He said it means my dad isn’t my real dad.”

“Hah?” Atsumu stops walking, brows raised in question, “Like he’s some random guy? You’re living with a random dude in yer house?” 

“Don’t be an idiot, Atsumu,” Osamu chastises his brother, rolling his eyes, “Let (y/n) explain it.”

“Well, I don’t really get it either,” you frown, “But Haru said my mom...cheated on my dad or something and then she got pregnant with me.”

“So your dad isn’t yer real dad?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“What does cheating mean?” Osamu wonders, “Like in a game or something?”

“Haru said it means my mom kissed somebody who wasn’t my dad.”

“Oh,” Osamu looks mildly surprised, “That’s bad, isn’t it?”

“I-I think so.” you frown even more at his words— so he thought you were bad too?

“I don’t get it,” Atsumu whines, “If yer a bastard, then why do people not like you?”

“Haru said it’s a small town.”

“It’s pretty big to me!” Atsumu argues, and Osamu rolls his eyes and calls him an idiot. 

The three of you walk in silence for a bit, an unspoken tension lingering in the air. You feel a bit bad for ruining the mood. 

“If...you guys don’t want to be friends anymore I understand,” you say softly, looking down at your shoes, “I won’t be mad.”

“Hah?” Atsumu and Osamu say at the same time, “Why would we want that?”

“B-because I’m a bastard? And everybody else thinks it too...and they don’t want me around because of it.”

“That’s dumb,” Atsumu snaps, “What does that hav’ta do with us? I don’t care about what other people think, and Osamu doesn’t either- right, Osamu?”

“Yeah,” Osamu agrees, “We don’t care if yer a bastard, (y/n), or if other people don’t like you— they can all eat dirt!”

“People are dumb,” Atsumu growls, “If yer mom made a mistake—”

(You wince at the word _mistake_.)

“— how is that your fault? It’s not like ya asked to be born or anythin’.”

“That’s true,” Osamu says, “Why are ya in trouble for something you didn’t even do? People are dumb.”

“Y-yeah,” you smile a bit at how easily the twins accepted you despite everything you’d told them, “I guess people are dumb.”

The conversation pretty much ended there, with Atsumu quickly changing the topic to your upcoming field trip to the zoo, Osamu talking about how excited he was to see the penguins; you merely listened along, not wanting to speak up lest you ruin the moment again.

The twins didn’t hate you. They still wanted to be your friend, even if you were a bastard and a mistake. They didn’t care- they didn’t think it was your fault. The weight on your shoulders suddenly didn’t feel so heavy anymore, now that the two boys were there by your side. 

So...telling the truth wasn’t so bad, then. You’d been scared to reveal what your brother had told you in fear of their reaction, but they’d acted like nothing had changed at all- you were all still friends. 

So what was your family so afraid of? Why did they keep quiet, when everybody already knew? Why did they insist on not talking about it, why did they ban certain words and topics, why did you have to listen to your dad tell your sisters bedtime stories from the other side of the wall, why did Haru tell you snitches get stitches, why did your mom tell you to do the right thing— what were they so afraid of? 

Were they scared of _you_? What was the worst that could happen- did they think you’d hurt them or something if you knew? Did they think you’d turn into godzilla and crush them? Why was everybody else allowed to know but you? 

You didn’t want to be a liar, but more than that, you didn’t want to be a monster. You didn’t want to be the villain in this story, you didn’t want to crush your family, you didn’t want to break the fragile peace your home had. You wanted to be somebody you liked, but more than that you wanted to be somebody who was liked by other people (would they ever really like you, though? or would they just tolerate you?) — so you bit your tongue. 

You didn’t mention it again; not to Atsumu or Osamu, not to Haru, who would send you knowing looks sometimes that you would promptly ignore, and you didn’t think of it either. 

The truth. 

That was what you wanted, right? Even if it was bad. Even if it hurt, you wanted to know. 

You think back to your promise with Atsumu: _the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth_ . It was a good deal at the time, and it’s not like you regretted it or anything, but...what if the truth was that Atsumu thought you were a mistake too? What if one day he _did_ grow sick of you, what if one day he crushed you like an ant underneath his shoe? Would you be able to handle it? 

The truth. 

You decide that you just simply wouldn’t ask. You wouldn’t ask if you were friends, or if he liked you more than Osamu, or if he liked _you_ \- not anymore. You wouldn’t ask, so that way you’d never have to hear his answer and get disappointed. 

Because you could handle the rest of the world thinking you were a mistake, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to handle it if Atsumu realized one day too. 

* * *

A/N: So this was a pretty...dramatic chapter haha— just for future reference, from chapter 10 onwards they’re teens and the romantic stuff starts 😏

I really want this story to be about how little things from your childhood affect you as you grow up even if you think they don’t bother you anymore, even if just in the subtlest of ways— so the bastard child situation and any other family problems are not going to be the forefront of the plot, I promise 😌 

Anyways, thanks for reading! Leave a comment, kudos, and check out my other stories if you’d like. Any feedback or support is really appreciated! 


	5. the answer is you

**_five: the answer is you_ **

**** _Hyogo, 2003, age 8_

Your dad (your _fake_ dad, but you digress) was a man of few words. 

He was the stereotypical middle aged, toxic masculinity, borderline-bigoted boomer of a man basically everyone’s dad was; except he wasn’t _yours_ — but again, you digress.

He was a man of a few words; actions spoke much louder, he’d once said, and you supposed he was right because people could talk all they wanted and still do the complete opposite ( _sorry (y/n), i already have a partner! Maybe next time!)_ so it was much easier to just look at what people _did_ rather than _said_. 

Your [fake] father did a lot. He worked hard, long hours at a job you still didn’t fully understand so he could pay the bills and keep the lights on and a roof over your head and go to sleep with a full stomach. He fixed your bike when you’d gotten the gears all twisted, and he drove you to your summer camps before Haru was able to drive; he’d been the one who taught Haru how to drive in the first place.

Speaking of Haru, him and your [fake] dad didn’t really get along all too much. 

Your dad was a man of few words, but he seemed to like lecturing your older brother; in turn, your older brother seemed to have a penchant for ignoring him. 

_Life isn’t always about having fun Haru. You need to know what you want to do for your future, Haru. You can’t just float along with no direction, Haru. Be a man, Haru. Don’t cry, Haru. Keep your cool, don’t let your emotions take over, Haru._

You remember thinking that ‘be a man, Haru’ sounded a lot like ‘do the right thing, (y/n)’. 

Hard. Cold. _Strong._ That’s how you’d like to describe your [fake] father. Tired, too. You could see it in the hunch of his shoulders, the ache of his back, the crow’s feet surrounding his eyes and the wrinkles on his forehead. Even stone could wither away eventually with a steady current crashing against it. 

Haru flowed with the tide. He wore his heart on his sleeve; he got angry like your dad did, but he laughed and smiled brightly like your mom did. He didn’t want to stress so much, work too hard, burn himself out, lest he become like your father— at least that’s what he used to say. 

(Haru was a bit lazy, but you’d never say it out loud.)

Your dad was a man of few words, so when he’d sat you down one day after school you made sure you listened to every word he spoke. 

“ _Listen, (y/n),” he’d said, hand on your shoulder for a split second before it returned to his side, “I know you’re still young, but this is important so I want you to pay attention.”_

_You nodded eagerly, excited to hear what wise words your [fake] dad would tell you._

_He sighs, looking out the window, “You need to have a goal in life. It doesn’t need to be set in stone for now, but you need something to work towards_ — _you can’t live life just wandering around and going with the flow, okay? Your older brother...he’s almost a man, and he still doesn’t know what he’s doing or where he’s going. You just...can’t do that.”_

_“Why not?” you frowned, wondering what was wrong with Haru- he seemed fine to you._

_“Because if you don’t have a goal, you’re not doing to know what direction to take in life- you’ll stray from the right path, you’ll make mistakes, and you’ll hurt yourself and others. You need to know what you want, so that way nothing bad happens.”_

You needed to know what you wanted. You were eight years old, and you couldn’t think of a single thing you wanted that would help provide the ‘direction’ your dad insisted you needed if you wanted nothing bad to happen. 

You wanted to pass your spelling test next week. You wanted to ask your mom to buy that mango flavoured ice cream she’d gotten last week at the grocery store. You wanted your sisters to return your barbie doll they borrowed a couple days ago, and you wanted Haru to hurry up and get home from school because you needed to get a present for the Miya twin’s birthday in two weeks and he was your ride.

1 hour later and your last wish is granted: you and Haru were currently at some sport’s store a couple minutes outside of your town, perusing the aisles for the perfect gift you had in mind for the twins. 

“Dad talked to me today,” you say absentmindedly, crouching a bit to see the various products better. 

“He did?” Haru looks up from his phone for a second, brow raised in question.

“Yeah, he told me that I ought to know what I want in life so I don’t end up like you,” you tell him honestly, “Said if I don’t make up my mind then bad things will happen.”

“No fucking way,” Haru scoffs indignantly, walking so that he’s in front of you, “Dad said that?”

“Yeah, right before you pulled into the driveway.”

Haru laughs, but it doesn’t sound like he thinks it’s very funny. “He told you not to end up like me?”

“Yeah,” you say, eyes still focused on trying to find your present, “He said you don’t know what you’re doing and it’s bad and I shouldn’t be like you.”

“What a fucking asshole,” he swears under his breath, “Why is he telling you this kind of stuff?”

“I don’t know,” you shove him aside so you can see what’s behind him, “Maybe he thought it was important.”

“Are you gonna listen to him?” Haru says incredulously, “You’re taking his side? Really?”

“I’m not taking sides,” you grimace, not understanding what he was getting so worked up about, “I’m just telling you what happened.”

“I can’t believe he’s actually using me as a bad example in one of his lectures,” he laughs again, and this time he sounds angry, “See, times like this I can understand why mom doesn’t love him.”

You pause your search and turn to look up at your older brother. “She doesn’t?”

That was news to you. You thought your mom loved your dad. She said she did, and she told you that _you_ had to love your dad. But you guess actions did speak louder than words…

You think back to the people in your life that you loved, and of what people did with those they loved in movies and TV shows. You didn’t see your mom and dad hold hands or kiss, and they never really had conversations; not like the conversations you had with Haru or Atsumu or Osamu. They didn’t fight either, like how you fought with Yuki and Yukiko. They just didn’t...do much in general together. 

Could you love someone you didn’t do much with?

Your parents did a lot _for_ each other, though. Your mom cooked dinner, and she cleaned the house and made the bed. She made sure her kids were quiet and nice and polite so your dad didn’t have to worry. Your dad worked hard and he was tired and he fixed things when they broke. 

Was that what love was? Keeping things together and fixing things that were broken?

Your head hurt. You needed to focus on finding the Miya’s present so you could get home in time for dinner. 

“Can you blame her?” Haru scowls, arms crossed over his chest, and his brows are furrowed like your dad’s, “Sometimes I don’t even want to live in the same house as him.”

“You don’t?” you get distracted again, looking up to see a deep frown on his face, “Where would you live then?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs, “Tokyo, I guess? That’s where I want to go to college, but really anywhere is better than _here_. I hate it here. I’m getting the hell out of this shitty town the second I graduate high school.” 

“Oh,” you say dumbly, because you don’t know what else to say. 

“Don’t listen to dad, (y/n),” he tells you, crouching down and placing a hand on your shoulder, “You don’t need to do what he says if you wanna have a good life. _I’m_ gonna have a good life, okay? I’m getting out of this shitty town and I’m gonna be happy, and I don’t care what that asshole has to say about it. So just...do what you want, okay? Don’t listen to him.”

Small town. Shitty town. Haru always said that about Hyogo; that it sucked, that the people here sucked, but you never really believed him. Hyogo had Atsumu and Osamu and their family, and it had Haru too. It had your mom and dad and sisters, so how bad could it possibly be?

Tokyo was a big city, right? Was Haru too big for Hyogo? Did he want to be around bigger people, live in a bigger space, in order to be happy? He’d said he was _going_ to be happy, like he wasn’t already. 

For a split second you debate asking him if you were in his picture of what a ‘good life’ was. The drives you guys had to the convenience store, the trips the twins and you guys would take to the beach in the summer, the pizza you guys ate when everyone else was asleep, were those not ‘good things’ to him? 

Before you can decide whether or not you wanted to ask him, you’d found what you were looking for. Haru and you bought the present, and the two of you were home in time for dinner, but you couldn’t stop thinking about what your dad and brother said to you. 

What did you want? What was your goal? What direction were you going in? Haru said you didn’t need to listen to your dad, but he had a direction he was going in too— away. He was going away, and you didn’t know if you were allowed to follow. 

What did you want? 

***

The Miya twins were amazing.

Your mom always told you how some people were just _born_ special; they had a sparkle that other people didn’t, they shone a little bit brighter than everyone else— and that’s what Osamu and Atsumu did.

That’s why people liked them so much. That’s why everybody wanted to be friends with them, wanted to hang out with them after school and get paired up with them in class; that’s why everyone in your class was currently at their birthday party. 

Like moths to a flame, or how the planets orbited around the Sun. The twins were their own orbit, their own centre of gravity, and everyone just circled around them. 

It made you wonder sometimes, why they’d want someone like you around. You didn’t ask though, because you were afraid of what their answer would be. You didn’t want to ask just in case that made them realize they changed their mind, so you kept your lips sealed. 

If the Miya’s were the Sun, you’d say you were Mercury- the closest planet in their solar system. You were able to soak in the warmth they exuded, the light they projected, and sometimes if you didn’t look very closely it seemed like _you_ were shining all on your own. 

It was funny, really, because people in your class seemed to forget you were a bastard when you were around Atsumu and Osamu. They forgot the hushed whispers of their gossiping parents, that you were a mistake, something that didn’t belong; they forgot because Atsumu and Osamu were bigger and brighter than you, and they made you look that way too. 

So yes, the kids in your class were slowly warming up to you; and you didn’t know if you wanted to thank the twins or not. Were their friends your friends, or were they just tolerating you? What happened if winter came and the days on your planet got shorter, darker; would they still want to be around you then? What happened if the Sun stopped shining one day? Would you go back to the darkness, alone? 

You supposed it didn’t matter. It was nice having people look you in the eye and not say sorry. It was nice to hear them talk, to talk _to_ them, to see a smile that wasn’t out of pity or guilt. 

(You never did stop worrying about the inevitable winter that was coming, though.)

If you were honest, most of the kids were there for _Osamu,_ not Atsumu. Osamu was the nicer twin, and he had more friends than Atsumu did. You liked to think that it was just because Atsumu shone a bit _too_ bright for everyone else; his biting words, hard touch and loud voice were just too much for some people, but you didn’t mind. You could handle it. 

Atsumu didn’t mind either. He didn’t care what other people thought of him, and he always said that as long as you were there he didn’t need any other friends. That made you happy, because you thought the same way. 

(You couldn’t stop smiling for hours after he’d told you that; Haru had teased you about it relentlessly.)

Regardless, it’s the twin’s eighth birthday party, and they’re sitting at the head of a very long table, with you in the corner closest to them, and they’re blowing out the candles of their cake and everyone’s singing happy birthday.

Atsumu tries to blow out more candles than Osamu, who retaliates by grabbing a piece out of the cake with his bare hand and smashing it into his face, and now their mom is screaming and everyone’s laughing and you’re happy because you’d never had a birthday party like this yourself. 

Their mom eventually breaks the two boys apart, and she cuts the cake into slices and passes it around; chocolate and vanilla, because the twins couldn’t agree on a flavour. 

She tells everyone to smile for the camera, and Atsumu makes sure to bring you closer so that you’re practically in a headlock when the cameras flash. 

“Hey, (y/n),” he releases his grip on you and you sit back in your seat beside him, “When are ya gonna give yer present?”

“Later, Atsumu,” you tell him, knowing the boy only ever really cared about the presents-aspect of birthdays (and basically every other holiday too- he was a greedy child, what can you say?).

“Have some patience, idiot,” Osamu rolls his eyes, frosting on the corner of his lips and words mumbled by the cake in his mouth. 

“(Y/n),” you divert your attention from the twins to the person calling your name beside you, “Can you pass a napkin?”

Suna Rintarou. 

He was a new student, only having transferred this year from another prefecture you forgot the name of. He was Osamu’s friend, and he was...well, he was nice, but he was kinda weird.

You remembered the first time you talked to him, you’d been with Atsumu; Osamu had introduced you guys, and Suna had taken one look at you and Atsumu and taken a picture with a camera you didn’t even know he’d had. 

_It’s for later_ , he’d said when you asked why he’d taken a picture of the two of you. You still didn’t understand what it meant.

He was a weird one, but you liked him. It was nice that he was from another prefecture, because people in this small town gossiped and he hadn’t heard any of it. Maybe you’d tell him one day, but it was nice that you had a classmate who didn’t know anything about you before you’d met. 

“Here you go,” you give him a small smile and pass the napkin to him, looking down at his plate, “Oh, you’re done your cake?”

“Yeah,” he nods his head, “It was good. I like the flowers on it.”

“You do?” you didn’t take him for the type to like flowers (even if they were made of icing), “Did you want mine? I have two on my slice.”

“Yes, please.”

Just as you lift your fork to get the flower, another fork swoops in lightning-fast, and you snap your head up to see Atsumu shoving it into his mouth. It was kind of gross, because his mouth was already full from his _own_ cake, but you didn’t really care.

“Why did you do that?” You frown, turning to see Suna staring blankly at the older twin, “Suna was going to eat that.”

Atsumu mumbles out nonsense and cake is spattering everywhere and you need to use your napkin to wipe his mouth because he’s making a mess. You wait a couple seconds for him to finish chewing and swallowing, a small frown still on your face.

“Suna can get his own stupid cake,” Atsumu grumbles, and he looks upset and now you don’t know what to do. 

You’d promised Suna part of your cake, and now you’d disappointed him. And Atsumu had stolen it...but...he was angry at you now too? Who were you supposed to say sorry to?

“It’s fine, (y/n),” Suna somehow reads your mind, “Atsumu is just a greedy pig.”

“Yeah, he is,” Osamu agrees, and now Atsumu is whining that it’s _his_ birthday and he’s being bullied. 

You sigh in relief, glad that nobody was mad at you and you could keep having fun. 

The rest of the party goes the way you’d expect any kid’s birthday party to go: you eat cake, open presents, parents mingle and before you know it everyone’s gone and you’re helping Atsumu and Osamu clean up all the decorations and empty plates. 

“Did you guys have fun today?” Their mom asks sweetly, absentmindedly adjusting Osamu’s collar and wiping Atsumu’s face of any leftover traces of cake. 

“Yup!” They both smile widely at their mom, and you smile at how happy the three of them look. 

(You’d never been one to celebrate your birthday, so it was nice to see what it would’ve been like for you.)

“We got so many cool presents!” Osamu cheers, “And (y/n)’s was the best!” 

“That’s right!” Atsumu agrees, “How did you know we wanted volleyball stuff?” 

You felt your chest swell with pride. The twins had ever-evolving obsessions and hobbies, and you were lucky enough to spend so much time with them you were able to predict their _next_ one. They’d been watching volleyball matches on TV the past few weeks, and you heard them begging their parents to let them attend a camp this summer geared towards the sport, so you figured they’d want equipment to have. 

They hadn’t even played yet, but you knew they’d be good at it, just like they were good at everything they did. 

“You guys always talk about it,” you say shyly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“Yer the best, (y/n)!” Atsumu smiles, and you feel your heart swell so much you feel like it’s going to explode out of your chest (for some reason it doesn’t scare you).

“Yeah, the best!” 

“You guys are so darn cute,” Their mom coos at the sight, “How about I take a picture of you three?” she offers, and now you’re huddled between the two twins, both their arms around your shoulder and their cheeks squished against yours. 

“Say, cheese!” 

“Cheese~” you all say, and when their mom shows you the picture you shyly ask if you can keep it for yourself. The twins tease you about being lame, but there was just something about how _happy_ you all looked that made you never want to forget it. 

(You still had that picture somewhere in the back of your closet, even to this day.) 

Their mom leaves to go clean up in the kitchen, and the three of you are left to gather any garbage lying around. 

“Hey, (y/n),” Atsumu calls your name, and you look up and ask him what he wanted.

“You should play volleyball with us,” Osamu finishes his brother's sentence (they said it was a twin thing, but it never failed to amaze you). 

“H-huh?” You point to yourself in confusion, “Me?”

“Duh, who else would we be talking to?” 

“Like during recess?” You frown, you thought that it was already a given, “I mean, I was going to anyways—”

“No, dummy,” Atsumu snaps, “Go to summer camp with us! It’ll be fun!” 

“Are girls even allowed to attend the same summer camp as the boys?” 

“Oh,” the twins deflate, realizing they hadn’t completely thought through their plan. 

“I can still play with you guys though!” You quickly try to lighten the mood, not wanting to disappoint them on their birthday, “And we can practice too so that you guys will be the best once you get to the summer camp!”

“We were gonna be the best anyways,” Atsumu huffs, “But I guess that’s fine.” 

“Yeah, whatever,” Osamu hides his disappointment behind his usual blank face. “I’m gonna go ask dad if he can help open some of our presents.” 

The older you guys got, the harder it was to keep up with the twins. Before, you could get away with showing them a cool rock or your brother’s DVDs, but now they were bigger than you and faster and stronger— you weren’t as amazing or cool as you used to be, and you couldn’t do all the same things the boys could do despite how hard you tried. 

You worried it would only get worse as you grew up. This volleyball camp didn’t seem like a one-time thing; it seemed like the _first_ time you wouldn’t be allowed to join the twins in something. 

You think back to what your dad said: how you needed to know what you wanted. How you needed to have a goal of some sort, that it was the right thing to do. 

Atsumu and Osamu knew what they wanted: to play volleyball, even if they hadn’t played it just yet they were still certain about it. And you...you didn’t know if you wanted to play, or if you’d even be _allowed_ to play with them and now you’re scared of getting left behind because you wouldn’t be able to catch up with the twins now that you were growing up. 

Would you have to find your own path? Your own dreams? Something _you_ wanted to do? 

Would something bad really happen if you didn’t know what you wanted in life?

Your dad knew he wanted to have a peaceful life, so he worked hard at his job. Haru knew he wanted to leave this small town, so he was going somewhere bigger and better. Your mom knew she wanted to do the right thing—

_The right thing._ That’s right, your mom had made a mistake once- it was you, wasn’t it?

Your mom didn’t know what she wanted, or maybe she’d forgotten for a bit, and then she messed up and had you. That’s what happened, right? That’s the bad thing, the mistake, the thing that hurts yourself and others- what happens if you don’t know what you want. It was you.

A clear goal. A direction in life. A path you wanted to take. 

That’s what you needed if you didn’t want something bad to happen (again), if you didn’t want to do the wrong thing and make a wrong thing. That’s what you needed to know, so that you didn’t have to spend the rest of your life trying to make up for it. So you didn’t have to lie for it, _to_ it. That’s what you needed if you wanted to be happy and have a good life. 

What you wanted most…

Right now? What you wanted most was to finish cleaning up all the plates and napkins, so you could play with all of the twin’s new toys with them. You wanted to go to sleep really late after watching a movie with them, and then wake up early the next morning and have breakfast their mom cooked. 

(You wanted Haru to stay in this small town even if he was big, too, but you didn’t want to think about it.)

You wanted to climb that tree again with Atsumu, to see the fake-Tokyo Tower that only appeared when he pointed it out. You wanted to go to the beach with the twins and Haru, collect sea shells with Osamu and make sand castles with Atsumu. You wanted to get three different flavours of ice cream and then share with each other and then race on your bikes to see who would get back home the fastest. 

You wanted… 

“Atsumu,” you say his name before you can stop yourself, and the boy turns to you with a curious look on his face.

“What?” he asks, and you flush when you realized you’d said his name out loud instead of in your head.

“N-nothing,” you look down and focus on collecting all the plates, embarrassed at your sudden outburst. 

“Okay, weirdo,” he laughs, flicking you in the forehead as he returns to the kitchen. He stops for a split second and looks back at you apprehensively, “Yer still sleepin’ over, right?”

“Yeah, if that’s okay with you guys.”

“Why the heck wouldn’t it be okay with us?” he rolls his eyes, “You always ask the weirdest questions, (y/n), I swear.”

He stalks off, and you can hear him talking to his mom and Osamu from the other room. 

Atsumu. That’s what you wanted. You wanted to be with the twins for the rest of your life, even if it meant staying in this small town that you didn’t belong in, even if it meant dealing with liars and phoneys and your fake dad and scrub sisters and goody-two-shoes mom and being left behind by Haru. 

You didn’t care where you ended up, or what path you were taking, as long as it meant that you could continue being by his side. That was your goal, that was your reason; and it was clearer to you than anything else- there wasn’t a doubt in your mind that it was what you wanted. 

Seeing his smile. Hearing his voice. Looking at his face. Feeling his hands ruffle your hair and hug you. Smelling him in the sheets of his bed, or on his shirt. Passing notes in class and doing homework together and walking home and jumping in puddles and making snowmen. Impressing him when you were cool, telling him the truth even if it was bad, sharing secrets, hanging out with Osamu, watching cartoons on his living room floor and eating onigiri. That’s what you wanted most. 

It made you feel warm inside, because you knew what you wanted, and now nothing bad could happen to you. You wouldn’t walk down the wrong path, you wouldn’t make a mistake, you wouldn’t hurt yourself or other people, because now you knew that Atsumu was the reason. _Your_ reason.

* * *

A/N: Completely off topic but my ex texted me out of the blue yesterday saying he only stayed in a relationship w me bc he felt bad and thought I was going to kms if he dumped me (? I have no idea why) and this is after saying a bunch of other rude things even tho I haven’t tried talking to him so in case y’all were wondering what romance is like IRL...it’s that 😃

Anyways, hope you enjoyed the chapter! Leave a comment, kudos and check out my other stories if you’d like! Any feedback or support is really appreciated!


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